“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,
in the preterite
OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.
Here when? Between walls of sound. Who now? Not wondering. That, there. Soon. You're not.
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
They know nothing of the living.
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,
in the preterite
OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
Use lipstick
to make people like you
Here when? Between walls of sound. Who now? Not wondering. That, there. Soon. You're not.
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
They know nothing of the living.
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.
Will you get married?
Yes
When?
Soon
To who?
Me
Who are you?
Papa
You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.
She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.
an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,
in the preterite
OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.
Here when? Between walls of sound. Who now? Not wondering. That, there. Soon. You're not.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
They know nothing of the living.
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.
You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
Will you get married?
Yes
When?
Soon
To who?
Me
Who are you?
Papa
She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.
an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage
CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,
in the preterite
OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
Here when? Between walls of sound. Who now? Not wondering. That, there. Soon. You're not.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,
in the preterite
OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
Here when? Between walls of sound. Who now? Not wondering. That, there. Soon. You're not.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
They know nothing of the living.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,
in the preterite
OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.
Here when? Between walls of sound. Who now? Not wondering. That, there. Soon. You're not.
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
They know nothing of the living.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.
—